


Curiosity and Cats

by prometheanTactician



Category: Homestuck, Mobsterswitch - Fandom, Problem Sleuth - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore, She loses a hand so yeah, Stabdads, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/prometheanTactician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was on a day when she lured him out from the door, into the kitchen to try to find her some food, that she realized the door was left open. The gaping maw that made her life so difficult was right there, inviting her in to see just what kept her father from her. She wanted to see for herself, face this beast head on and make sure it never tainted their lives again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What was that saying about curiosity and cats?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curiosity and Cats

She hated that door.

A simple, standard wooden door. It stood firm as the separator between her and the steep stair case, wooden and narrow, leading down into the cavern that so often swallowed her father whole. It was too often, in the four year olds opinion, that she would search for him, hungry or thirsty, tired or scared, only to find that the door had dragged him back inside and locked behind him. It'd keep him inside for days, chew him up and spit him out looking haggard, exhausted, starving almost as much as she was. Sometimes it spat him out frantic, manic, hurrying about. Sometimes he'd all but crawl his way out, somehow manage to get to the couch, curl up there. She knew that mood well, and she knew that if he got deep enough into it she wouldn't find him again for a very long time.

But even when he came out, she never knew how to tell him she needed him. She always had to wait until he remembered her, and that could take forever. It was always the same when he did, almost as unpleasant as the neglect, but at least with this she got fed. Her father would usually be in the middle of a phone call, a puzzle, a book, a pacing session, a crying spell- He'd pause, nothing more than a statue for a moment, before springing into action and trying to find something, anything, to feed his daughter. Panicked apologies as he dug something up, usually not enough depending on if there were groceries about, assertions of love as he stroked her hair as she ate, nails chewed until they bled, hands wrung, words strangled and mutilated in his throat in his constant struggle to force them out. To her, it was all because of that door.

He'd hold her afterwards, for a very long time. She was happiest then, though he was practically radiating misery. Her father was prone to bouts of self loathing, and whenever the door relinquished its grip on him long enough for her to be noticed, it seemed to be at its worse. He blamed himself for what it did to him, but she didn't see the sense in that. It was the doors fault, not his. He asked her to please, next time, bang on the door, yell out for him. She promised she would, but she wouldn't even begin to know how to do so. How could she possibly reach him, all the way down there? Her voice would never travel so far, surely, even if she did know how to say what she needed. But she came to a realization. Her father was at his best in tending to her when he felt bad for not doing so. The guilt and self loathing would kick start his fathering, and afterwards he'd slink into his room to take his pills and cry before coming back out and managing to stay out of the doors grasp for a little while longer.

That guilt was key.

So she learned to wield it like one.

She learned to lace her voice with fear or tears, learned to make her eyes wide and pleading. Her father was a smart man, a genius and a criminal, a master manipulator and not easy to fool. She had to really work at it to get at him, but luckily for her he was all too willing to believe in his own failure. She became practised at twisting his heart, squeezing it in her hands as she strung it up and made it dance. Even when he knew it was an act, it got her what she wanted. It was on a day when she lured him out from the door, into the kitchen to try to find her some food, that she realized the door was left open. The gaping maw that made her life so difficult was right there, inviting her in to see just what kept her father from her. She wanted to see for herself, face this beast head on and make sure it never tainted their lives again.

What was that saying about curiosity and cats?

Nepeta checked once over her shoulder, listening to her father mutter to himself as he cooked. He was sufficiently occupied, believing she was still waiting patiently. It would be rude to wander off, and he had not raised her to be rude. However, he had raised her to be almost unstoppable in her need for knowledge, and this was something she had to know more about. She crept down the stairs, careful and quiet. She'd studied the way the various cats that they kept walked, worked on doing it herself in her obsession with the creatures. It kept the creaking of the wood to a minimum as she picked her way over the steep, treacherous steps. It grew more difficult as she left the light of the floor above behind, deeper into the dark. The light for the basement would be at the bottom of the stairs, and she had to stand on a higher step and stretch forward perilously to reach it. The light turned out to be a naked bulb, hanging from the ceiling, casting dull yellow light on the room.

It was not a cavern at all, as she had pictured. She'd imagined the base of some beast her father had to keep at bay, but this was much cleaner, much more clinical. The room was filled with tables, each with their own little light which would surely be much brighter and precise than the one swaying slightly above her. Being four years old, and small for her age, she couldn't quite see what else was arranged on the tables, and had to pull herself up onto one of the many chairs. Had she been older, she'd have recognized them as work tables, but as it was she simply knew that there were many sharp things, any electric things, and many things that were completely foreign, unknown and unknowable.  
One object in particular caught her eye as the light glinted from it. Barely more than a toddler, the shiny aspect of this object drew her in, and as she reached her tiny hand towards it, it didn't even occur to her that any bad could come of it.

 

-

 

It took a lot to pull Innovator from his mind. Sadly, agonizingly for him, his daughter was rarely able to do so. He swore, every time he came back from an episode or a stint down in the lab to find her starving and alone and find out he'd been gone for days rather than the hours it felt like, it took years off his life. And probably hers. But it took a lot to pull him from his mind. Thankfully, horribly, an agonized and terrified childs scream coming from his lab did the trick. The bowl he'd been scooping some food for Nepeta into fell from his spidery hands, and in a moment he was flying down those stairs, stumbling frequently until coming to a stop at the bottom. Being a ruthless killer, the sight of blood rarely inspired much of anything in him unless he was in a particularly psychotic state. However, the scene before him chilled his blood, his heart stopped. For a moment, he felt he was going to be sick.

His daughter, his baby (little more than a baby, she was so goddamn young, why hadn't he been watching her?), was on the floor beside a chair, screaming her head off, tears running down her cheeks, and blood pooling quickly below her. It took a moment to process what the blood was coming from, but when his eyes locked on the mutilated remains of what had once been her left hand, he couldn't look away. The device was something not quite practical in how brutal it was, a mess of barbed wire, parts of a bear trap. He'd just been messing with it to see what could come of it. Of course that would be what she stumbled upon.

He hurried forward, falling to his knees beside the hysterical child. She'd be going into shock soon, and she was losing so much blood. He realized immediately she needed a hospital, as much as he liked to avoid them. A tendril of shadow magic was sent to gather a towel as he worked to get the thing detached as best he could. There was a release, but the wiring dragged through the skin when he removed it, and the way she wailed cut right through his heart. He tossed it aside, immediately gathering her up and clamping the towel down hard on what was left of her hand. He held her close in shaking arms barely strong enough to hold her without the use of magic. She was so small, a tiny ball shaking violently, crying in his arms. She was underfed, malnourished, neglected and alone and sad and oh god, oh god he'd fucked up, he'd fucked up so badly. Who in their right mind would trust him with another life when he could barely sustain his own?

Shadow magic had its uses, despite the painful drawbacks, and one of many was the teleportation. He didn't have to let go of her, held her tighter, whimpering broken words of comfort to ward off the disorientation. Teleporting was hard for adults to bear, let along wounded, frightened children. The minute they showed up in the hospital, he went from broken, desperate parent to Pernicious Innovator, the devious brains of the feared Twilight Scoundrels. Shadow magic lashed around him, eyes glowing brightly, and when he yelled for someone to help his daughter it was with voices that were not at all his own. That got attention, and while he was reluctant to give her up at all, Nepeta was violently opposed to the idea. She clung to her father with her good hand, started screaming again. Clearly the shock hadn't set in. He had to hold her still while they sedated her. Definitely taking years off of his life.

Even as he handed her over, he stayed close, and no one dared to ask him not to. They brought her into a room, began cleaning away the blood, trying to salvage what they could. It wasn't much. The main goal was the stop the bleeding, and they simply couldn't save the hand when there wasn't enough of it left to save. They feared for the nurse left to break the news to the Scoundrel, but he hardly even reacted visibly, simply looking at his daughter, at the bandages stump where her hand had been, and he started crying.

-

Eventually news of this incident got around.

Peccant Scofflaw was the first to catch wind of it, after Innovator neglected to show up at the hideout for an extended period of time. At first, he assumed it was more trouble in his, mildly put, volatile relationship with Deadeye Detective. Their falling outs tended to either have Innovator destroying buildings or locking himself in his room for weeks on end. There was no middle ground. However, when he showed up to Innovators apartment, fully intending to lose it at him for letting his stupid boyfriend get in the way of the Scoundrels success, he didn't find Innovator moping or crying over the Detective, but tending to his daughter. The kid was doped up on about as much pain medication as you'd dare to give a four year old, and Innovator looked as if he'd been getting even less sleep than usual, which would certainly be a feat.  
There was nothing to be done about it, really. He couldn't get Nepeta's hand back, he couldn't make Innovator feel any less awful about the whole situation. All he could really do was make sure the guy ate something, slip sleeping pills into his tea, and let him get some rest while Scoff took over tending to Nepeta. It was the first and one of the only decent things Nepeta had and ever would see him do.

When Innovator came to, Scoff had to dodge fireballs on his way out the door.

 

-

 

No one was entirely certain who called Child Protective Services. The smart money was on Deadeye, but honestly, it could've been anyone. It was entirely expected that Innovator would fight with shadow and fire against anyone who tried to take Nepeta away, but strangely enough he seemed resigned, relieved even, though completely and utterly miserable.

“I-I never should've b-been trusted wi-with her.” His tone practically dripped with despair as he spoke to Scofflaw, curled up in a compact ball on the couch as Nepeta slept in her room. The wall was charred where he attacked his teammate upon his arrival, but he'd long since calmed from his little episode. “I can h-hardly manage to keep m-mmm-myself alive.” The rest of the conversation continued in much the same manner. Not even Scofflaw could kick Inny while he was already dealing with this. His fellow Scoundrel was a mess at his very best, he could barely function after what happened to Nepeta. If she got taken away on top of everything else, well...

The investigation had to be stopped.

By time he actually got around to dealing with it, though, they'd already searched the house, and were pretty dead set in their conviction to get Nepeta out of there. Scoff didn't think about if it was wrong or right, or if she'd be better off. Inny needed her there, he needed Inny more or less functional, and if it took a bit more cash to sway them well it was no skin off his nose. It was a close call, though. They were at Innovators door, ready to take her, Nepeta screaming bloody murder above them, when they got the call to leave. Nothing was being done. They were clearly confused and not at all pleased, but Nepeta's wailing turned to something like relieved sobbing, and when Scoff saw some of the resignation shift in Inny's expression as he held her, he felt he'd done good. Well, no, not really, but he was satisfied that Innovator would fight to keep her from that point forward. Even if he never forgave himself for any of it.

And he didn't. He promised himself, from the moment he found his daughter bleeding on the basement floor, if he survived long enough for her to grow to the point where she didn't need him any more, he would destroy himself for this.

But not a moment before then. Not while she still needed him. And with the way her tiny arms held tight around his shoulders when he picked her up as Scofflaw slipped out, it was clear that she did.


End file.
